


Boyish

by strawberrylemonade1225



Series: bmc one shots [1]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Growing Up, Realization, Trans Male Character, Trans Michael Mell, and humor, idk what else um, the main focus isn't on boyf riends, yeeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 05:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12052590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrylemonade1225/pseuds/strawberrylemonade1225
Summary: Miranda's just a girl who's rather confused about the whole world and herself.





	Boyish

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER:::  
> I am not trans, actually genderfluid, so I have not had firsthand experiences with these types of situations!  
> I have done a lot of research prior to writing, but if something I have written offends someone or shows an inaccurate portrayal of feelings/facts, please do not hesitate to yell at me/correct me!  
> With that, this fic centers around a sensitive topic, along with some of the problems that can come along with that topic, so please read safely!

From the day she was born, Miranda has been told that it’s good to stick out. Over and over again, people have told her that blending in with the crowd is boring and plain and that she should just be herself and do what makes her happy, not what makes others happy.

She liked that idea, honestly. It made her more memorable… it made her special to herself.

Even in her early years of school, she was different than most other girls; she didn’t wear skirts as often, and she didn’t shy away from boys because of the fact that they were boys. In fact, she felt closer to the boys than she did to the girls. In _fact,_ her best friend _was_ a boy.

Sure, she had a few girl friends. There were Melanie and Harper, but neither of them could compare to Jeremy. Jeremy was just… _so cool._ He could read. Miranda was six and she didn’t know how to read, yet Jeremy, a five-year-old, knew how to read.

That was _awesome_.

Moving on from that, it was always a little bit awkward whenever the class divided by boys and girls. Miranda always stomped over to the girl’s side and stood with her arms crossed and pouting. She felt weird standing over there like she didn’t… belong? She just wanted to stand on the other side next to Jeremy, yet she couldn’t.

It fixed itself up, though, when she stubbornly sat by Jeremy even though she technically wasn’t allowed to, and the teachers didn’t even bother to move her because they knew that she would throw a hissy fit.

(No one wants to deal with a flailing and angry six-year-old.)

So she stuck out.

Her long hair was usually slightly messy and draped down her back. Occasionally, her mom or dad would style it up into a bun or braids, and Miranda loved the braids because then her hair would turn out to be all wavy, but they were usually too busy to do that. Jeremy and Harper liked to play with her hair anyway, so that turned out good.

(Jeremy’s hair was short. Harper just… didn’t have hair. She wore pretty hats, though.)

She usually wore baggy t-shirts and jeans with sneakers, and she almost always got messy from either playing outside or eating, and her teachers would scold her (“Ladies eat slower, ladies don’t make messes, blah, blah, blah”) and it just went through one ear and out the other.

She’s six! She’s practically a grown-up! They can’t control her!

All in all, Miranda is a pretty happy-go-lucky and flamboyant little girl, still shy a lot of the time, though, and that seems like the way it’s going to stay.

***

In third grade, she gets her hair cut.

It had grown to be ridiculously long, and she complained near daily about how it was annoying/ugly/got tangled too easily until her dad finally cracked and took her to get it cut.

The original game plan was that Miranda was going to get it cut so it went just below her shoulders, but she chipped away at her dad until he agreed to get it cut so it just reached her chin.

She was ecstatic. She had seen other girls with short hair, and she absolutely loved the idea of having hair that short.

Think about it: no more annoying tangles, easier to do in the morning (she had started dressing herself), easily pushed out of her eyes and under the hats she liked to wear. Plus, Jeremy had short hair, so they’d match.

Her dad tried to talk Miranda out of it by saying, “It’ll make you look like a boy,” and Miranda shrugged, grinning anyway. Her words came out a little bit hissed due to missing her two front teeth.

“So what?”

Her dad just looks over at her from the driver’s seat and rolls his eyes dramatically, causing her to giggle.

(“You shouldn’t be in the passenger seat, princess. It’s dangerous for someone your height.”

“Aw, come on, dad, we’ll be there soon anyways!”)

He reaches over and ruffles her still long hair while cruising through the parking lot and looking for an open space. His mouth still curves upwards into a small fond smile.

“You’ll always be my special girl, Mimi.”

The nickname causes Miranda to grin even wider, pulling her baseball cap down further, and looking at the salon outside the window with huge, excited eyes.

***

So.

Sixth grade comes.

Miranda hits the grand age of twelve.

Miranda also hits something else too.

Puberty.

She wakes up one morning and sleepily walks over to her mirror, silently praying that her bed head isn’t too wild. She doesn’t have the time, nor the patience to-

“What?”

Her eyes grow comically huge as she turns all different sorts of angles to look at herself in the mirror. She stands at a profile view, and her jaw literally drops open.

Okay, so, she has boobs now. Big ones. Holy crap.

She had been mostly flat chested until around nine years old. Her chest started to fill out bit by bit, but never this drastic, holy crap. She felt awkward just looking at herself in the mirror, and this was her own body.

“M-Mom?” she hesitantly calls out, arms crossed over her chest. After a minute or two, her door is opening and her mom walks in, a slightly concerned look on her face. She steps inside and closes the door behind her.

“What’s wrong?” she asks then, seeing the tense way that Miranda is holding herself. Miranda also seems to notice that her mom’s face is a lot closer than it was before, and her mom sees that too, gasping a little bit. “Well, someone had a growth spurt.”

Miranda takes a breath and closes her eyes, turning her face towards the ground before she drops her arms, crossing them over her stomach instead. She hears her mom step closer and gasp.

“Woah, wow, okay, wow. Those are… wow.”

Miranda stiffly nods her head. She doesn't understand it, but there’s a pang in her chest. A painful pang. To her… heart?

She's horribly self-conscious at the moment. Along with the chest situation, she also seems to have gained some weight in her thighs and hips, although that had been happening for a while. Her waist also narrowed a bit, and honestly?

She hates it. She wants her other body back, the one she had only a few years ago, where she looked like everyone else did. Why'd she have to go and hit puberty this hard?

She did appreciate the fact that she was tall, at the time, and that her shoulders were broad, in a sense, but she could live without every other change. It felt gross.

“Oh, honey, let me get you a bra,” Miranda’s mom says, breaking through her thoughts. Miranda opens her eyes in time to see her mom leave the room and comes back in a second with one of her own bras.

“Uh… can't I use the sports bra?”

“I'm sorry, baby girl, but it's not supportive enough. I'll take you bra shopping soon, though,” her mom answers, walking forward and kissing her forehead. Miranda feels weird and awkward like she doesn't like the skin she's in. It feels like it's something more than just insecurity. “Now come on, get ready. You wouldn't want to be late to school.”

“... Right…”

And her mom leaves the room.

Miranda turns back to the mirror and cringes again. She slowly pulls off her shirt and grimaces. After awkwardly fumbling with the clasp and hook, she manages to get the bra on correctly, and while she does feel a little bit more comfortable, she hates it.

A thought pops into her head.

_I want a boy's body._

It causes her to freeze up for a second before she realizes that it's true. She's never really wanted a feminine body like this one. She never was one of the girls who couldn't wait for puberty, in fact, she wanted puberty to stay away.

That's okay though, right? That she wanted to be in a boy's body? She just didn't like the shape of her body about herself. She was still a girl… right?

***

Not a week after the incident happens, and she's grown even taller. At this point, she's taller than Jeremy, and she takes pride in that little fact.

Oh, and she gets her period.

That's also big news.

She had woken up in the middle of the night and got up to go to the bathroom. She noticed a lot of blood, but she was too tired for it to fully register in her mind.

She flushed the toilet and washed her hands, opening the door with a yawn. She opens the door and jumps when she sees her mom standing outside of it.

“Jesus!” she shouts, clutching her heart. Her mom has to look up a little to meet her eyes, and Miranda is really loving this height thing. It causes her to stick out, but she could get used to this kind of sticking out.

“Is everything alright?” her mom asks and Miranda waves a hand, yawning again.

“Yeah, it's cool. I mean, I'm bleeding a lot, but I'm tired, so I'm going back to bed.”

“I- wha- Miranda! You can't just go back to bed!”

So, anyway, Miranda had now reached full womanhood, as her parents called it.

She… doesn't know how to feel about that.

She doesn't feel like a woman. She doesn't _want_ to feel like a woman.

Not a single bit.

***

Miranda continues to wear baggy clothes into seventh grade. She likes to hide the curves that the world cursed her with.

(The world also gave her a nice butt, though, so she's okay with that. She still wears baggy jeans anyway.)

Her attitude and happiness kind of plummeting down the drain. She doesn't feel like herself anymore.

She had always felt a little off while using “she” and “her” for herself, but she guesses it's just a phase.

Another thing? She has chest pains now. Also, she constantly feels like she's on the verge of vomiting. Her stomach constantly twists, whether she's eaten or not, and it feels like she's just dragging her body.

Her chest pains consist of her heart squeezing up horrible in her chest, leaving her to clutch at it and stop everything she's doing just to breathe. And those happen a lot every day.

She's gotten closer than ever to Jeremy as well. Jeremy is her… life preserver. Without him, she'd sink to the bottom of the ocean and never make it back up.

Miranda's pretty sure that she has a crush on him, and that thought scares the crap out of her, so she tries to repress it. Jeremy likes Christine, anyway, so Miranda should just move on now.

Going back to the main thing here, she's completely changed as a person.

Her parents are left wondering what happened to their optimistic and loud daughter, reduced to this quiet timid girl who drowns herself in clothes. The one they see staring at herself with disgust in the mirror through the crack in her door. The girl who gets a ton of sleep, but always seems tired, who plays tons of video games, but always seems bored, who's always hanging out with Jeremy yet at a new antisocial height.

One day, Miranda gets out of bed and starts to get ready for school when dizziness crashes into her like a tsunami. The floor is shifting and rocking and her legs aren't steady at all, leaving her falling onto her knees with a thud. She barely registers the sound of her door opening and two people running in. Her heart is doing the clenching thing again, and she's gritting her teeth hard.

She's scooped up in someone's arms. They struggle a little bit, but they steady out right away. The smell of cheap cologne and warmth flits by, and she would've felt comforted if it weren't for the pain.

Inevitably, she's brought to the ER.

And even though they run a lot of tests, per her parents’ requests, they don't find anything physically wrong with her.

Her parents exchanged looks and Miranda’s mom quietly makes an appointment for next week for Miranda's regular doctor.

***

“Your child has been… going through a lot of personal issues as of late, and their lack of expressing themselves or telling anyone caused it to build up and their mental state became physical as well.”

Miranda is staring at the ground, clutching onto the seat of the chair on either side of their thighs. Their legs are jumping rapidly, and their face is still streaked with tear tracks. They hear their parents gasp, and they're pretty sure they feel eyes on them.

(“-and I don't know why but I can't- I can't take this ‘she’ this and ‘she’ that and-”

“How about the pronoun ‘they’? Until you figure out more about yourself?”

She- They nodded rapidly, and it felt like a huge weight was lifted off their chest.)

“Obviously, this is not my field of expertise, but I recommend that Miranda goes to therapy to have someone to talk to and that you all have a talk, as a family.”

And that's what they do. They get home and Miranda asks them to sit on the couch and she stands in front of them with her back towards them. They chew on their nails, and their dad calls out softly to them.

“Baby girl, you can tell us anything-”

“That's the th-thing,” Miranda says, slowly turning around to them.

“I'm…” Shaky breath, shaky breath, _oh God, here we go,_ “I'm not a girl.”

You could hear a pin drop with this silence. Their parents stare on silently and they continue.

“I'm a boy.”

_Holy shit, Mell, you did it, oh my God._

And for the first time in forever, he feels a bit more comfortable with himself.

He, he, he. Him, him, him.

 _He_ couldn't get enough.

***

His parents accept him. Well, his mom accepts him, his dad is more hesitant, his mom takes his dad into the other room for a “chat”, and they both walk back into the room and hug their son.

Miranda- M? M is better, for the moment, has yet to come out to Jeremy, but it seems likes he's about to towards the middle of their eighth-grade year.

They're in M's basement playing video games. M’s wearing a baggy t-shirt and a sports bra, along with pajama pants. Jeremy's in matching pajama pants and a plain white shirt.

His hair has been cut even shorter, going from the hair that hung down at right below his chin to gelled back hair on the top and cut shorter on the sides.

M has been doing voice exercises to naturally lower his voice, and although it wasn't a large change, it still was a change. He hadn’t spent four hours researching for nothing.

He was super pumped about the summer. His mom managed to pull some strings, and his dad has been working super hard, and M’s going to start getting testosterone injections starting May 7th. He cried when they first told him.

(“There's… there's a lot of things that can go wrong with T shots…”

“Dad, that's a risk I'm willing to take. From the bottom of my heart, I'll do anything for this.”

His dad cracks a smile and pushes up his glasses. “You drive a hard bargain, sir.”)

They're still looking for binders, though. He had originally told him that he wanted to start T first, that he'll be okay with just layering sports bras. Going off of that, there was the struggle of finding one that would A. fit and B. actually flatten his… moderately large chest.

He's shouting and constantly shoving up his glasses. He's sitting with his legs bent and spread, elbows on his knees and reclining back into the bean bag.

They die again and M quite literally screams. There's a knock on the basement door, and Jeremy shouts out a timid “sorry” before laughing and turning to look at M.

“You really aren't like any other girl I know, Mimi,” Jeremy says, voice fond. M starts speaking before he even realizes, standing up and shuffling towards the console, squatting down in front of it.

“That's ‘cause I'm a boy, Jer.”

It takes a second or two for M to realize what he did and he falls backward onto his ass and whips his head around to look at Jeremy. Jeremy's staring back with wide eyes, and M feels the beginnings of panic to press down on him and he's about to bolt because he-

“What- What should I call you; what's your name?” Jeremy whispers after a few seconds and M would've fallen over again if he wasn't sitting already. The panic lets up a significant amount.

“I… I haven't chosen yet. I want it to start with M, though,” he replies, equally as quiet. Jeremy scoots closer to him and seems to think for a few seconds before meeting his eyes again.

“What about Matthew? Or Mark?”

“Nah. I don't like the way they sound.”

“Alright.” Jeremy taps his chin while M is on the verge of tears from this accepting environment Jeremy is just wholeheartedly contributing to.

“Does Michael sound good?”

M stops to think for a few seconds, and he's actually liking it. “Like Michael Myers?”

Jeremy rolls his eyes and laughs. “Well, I mean, if you _want_ to be named after a murderer, go right ahead. I know you like your horror movies.”

“Hmm. Michael. Michael Mell it is.” M- no, Michael says aloud to himself, getting worked up again. Tears pool in the corner of his eyes and Jeremy back tracks a little bit, looking concerned.

“Uh- um, it was just a- just a joke, man, I-”

Michael turns full and gets on his knees, hugging the life out of Jeremy, crying into his shoulder. “Thank you for understanding.”

Jeremy hugs him back, albeit awkwardly with forced pats. “Uh, no problem, bro.”

“These are happy tears, Jer. I'm okay,” Michael reassured and Jeremy relaxed a little with that, stopping the weird pats. His voice is still quiet, though.

“How long- I mean, since when did you know?”

“Last year, around this time?” Jeremy gasps loudly at that and Michael chuckles. “What?”

“Oh my God, you just let me call you a girl all that time?!”

“Well, I mean… you usually use ‘dude’ or ‘bro’. This was the first time in the while you used ‘Mimi’.”

“Uh… my mom said it was improper for me to call you ‘dude’. She said to use your name.” Jeremy pulls back from the hug and smiles wide at him. “So hey, Michael.”

Michael's going to act like he didn't bawl his eyes out with a grin on his face because that'd be pretty lame.

(“It wasn't lame, you nerd.”

“Says you!”)

***

It's the August before Michael's ninth grade year. He's hanging out with Jeremy (shocking) in his room while a movie plays in the background.

Michael's laying on Jeremy's bed and Jeremy's beside him, sitting up and playing a game on his laptop.

Michael's wearing two sports bras that are too tight for him on top of each other. With his T shots, his parents have been struggling a little money wise. They were going to buy him a binder, but he refused profusely, saying that other things were more important.

Besides, the bras worked fine.

(No they didn't. They made his breathing a little hard, they were uncomfortable, and they didn't flatten out his chest to the degree he wanted it flat. Every morning that he woke up, he was a little more dysphoric, but he pushed it to the back of his mind.)

He's lounging and complaining about something, staring up at the ceiling. He's in a baggy t-shirt and shorts, yanking at the shirt whenever it lays weird on his chest.

“Oh!” Jeremy suddenly says, causing Michael to jump a little. The bed shifts and suddenly Michael is the only one on it, Jeremy's abandoned laptop beside him. He sits up, following Jeremy with his eyes and tilting his head a little.

“What's up?”

“I… I got something for you,” Jeremy answered, opening his closet doors and digging around a little. Michael clapped his hands and smiled.

“Oh, a present. Exciting.”

Jeremy pulls out a box in Christmas wrapping paper and walks back to the bed, a grin forming on his face as he gets closer. He drops the box in front of Michael, and Michael looks up at him for an explanation. “I was gonna give it to you for Christmas, but I decided that now was a better time for me to give it to you.”

Michael smiles again, humming and he doesn't even try to take his time slowly ripping off the paper. He's almost to the box when Jeremy grabs his wrist, and Michael looks up to him.

“A few things before you open this: 1. I paid for them with my own money, 2. they were ridiculously hard to find, 3. no matter what happens this year, and years to come, I'll always be there for you,” Jeremy tells him, words fast. Michael's heart pounds in his chest, and his face is blank. He decides to make a joke as Jeremy lets go of his wrist, slowly pulling off the paper then.

“Oh, dude, did you get me some limited edition games or something? You're so cool, bro,” he teases, voice cracking near the end, making him wrinkle his nose. He pulls off the duct tape sealing the flaps of the box and opening it. He pulls out a plastic square package with something black in it. Underneath, there's a package with something tan and something white. “T-shirts?”

“Just-just open them.”

Michael does just that, using his teeth to tear the seam of the plastic. He pulls out the black item (spandex?) and unfolds it, shaking it to unfold it. It unfolds and-

“Oh my God,” Michael says, eyes going enormous. He looks between the binder in his hands and Jeremy's grinning face, taking shaky breaths. “Are you _serious?!_ ”

“Go try it on!” Jeremy exclaims, gesturing towards his open door. Michael jumps off the bed, racing to his bathroom and whipping off his shirt as soon as he gets the door locked. He pulls off the bras as well, starting to try and pull on the binder.

Apparently, his excitement was too high and he gets stuck. The situation is almost laughable, but then he realizes what he's going to have to do.

He bends over awkwardly, unlocking the door and standing with his back facing it.

“Hey, Jere?” he yells, and he hears Jeremy's footsteps come up to outside the door.

“Yeah?”

“Could you come in here?”

“Ah, yeah, sure.” The door clicks in and Michael's face flushed red as he once again realized the situation in which his crush of over a year will have to see him in. Jeremy continues, speaking fast. “Do you have it on? Oh God, I hope it fits. It was so awkward asking your parents for your measurements and then ordering the binders without my parents knowing- Oh my God, you're half naked.”

Michael laughs, hearing the weird squeaking sound that Jeremy makes at the end of his sentence, just picturing how his awkward friend must look. “That I am, buddy. Can you help me get this thing on.”

“Oh! Yeah, yes!”

After a few seconds of pulling and yanking, they get it on right, Michael adjusting it a little more. It's tight, as he thought it would be, and fits just right. He can already feel his emotions flaring.

It's a half tank top kind, and he's honestly glad about that factor, especially for when summer rolls around again. He bends down and scoops up his shirt, pulling it on again, looking down, chin tucked to his chest and smiling when he sees the flat chest.

He turns to Jeremy with bright eyes and a grin, and Jeremy motions towards the mirror. Michael draws in a breath before looking in the mirror, gasping when he sees himself.

“Holy shit. _Holy shit!”_ he yells, hands covering his mouth. He jumps up and down, pumping his fists in happiness and excitement. He hears Jeremy mumble next to him, something like “thank God my parents aren't home”, and Michael lunges at him, hugging him tightly, tears streaming down his face by this point.

“You're a fucking _life saver,_ you know that?! Oh, my God, I love you so much, you're so awesome! Thank you!”

Jeremy laughs, holding him tightly. “You’re welcome. I love you too, Michael.”

They continue hugging for a minute or two, Michael blubbering the whole time. Jeremy pulls away from the hug, putting his hands on Michael’s shoulders and giving him a serious look.

“Real talk, though. If anyone bothers you at our new school, I promise I’ll beat the crap out of them,” Jeremy deadpans and Michael lets out a wet laugh, sniffling.

“Thanks, you twink.”

“... Twink?”

“Oh my God. That’s not important.” Michael pulls back completely, looking at himself in the mirror again.

He’s like… a completely different person than he was only two years ago. The change is so drastic and amazing that he’s left crying even harder.

Yeah, he still has feminine features, such as his waist, hips, and more, but they were changed themselves. The fat on his hips changed a bit, moving to his waist, and his arms became more muscular. Soon after his first T shot, he began working out, trying to gain muscle, and it actually proved to be worth it when he flexed his arms and saw a decent amount of muscles. His voice had deepened, both with his own work and the testosterone, and even though it cracks like a mother effer, it was still deeper. His face did break out, which sucked, but it was still a sign of his body changing, so Michael took that fact with a grain of salt and smiled.

Michael almost wished he could write a letter to little Miranda and show her how far she has come, show her that she’ll eventually figure out why she feels so weird in her own body, why she sometimes wishes she was a boy, subconsciously.

That one day… one day it’ll all get better.

***

In tenth grade, Michael can comfortably pass as a boy during school and just daily in general. Jeremy had started introducing him as “My new friend, Michael to people just so that they didn’t think too much and discover Michael’s dead name. They just acted like Miranda “moved away”.

Despite the fact that he now passes as Michael, he's still bullied for other factors.

(He's a loner nerd who sticks out because of his bright red hoodie, headphones, and height. Goddamit.)

Luckily, he's gotten used to the insult lazily thrown at him. He's dealt with a hell of a lot worse, so this was practically nothing-

He's shoved against a locker. Someone grabs his collar, forcing him to look at them, leaning in way too close to his face.

“Ya scared, Miranda?” They spit and Michael's eyes go wide, his jaw dropping. He stares at them, eyes darting between both of their eyes, and they grin. “Oh my God, I was right!”

“How did you-”

“I just had to steal an attendance sheet. All they did was scribble out your real name and replace it with ‘Michael’, Mi-ran-da,” they say, backing up a little. Michael feels frozen to the spot, back against the too cold lockers.

“Don't call me that,” he forces out shakily and they laugh.

“Why not? Makes you sad? Why would you lie about your name?”

Michael swallows around the lump in his throat and his hands dig into his thighs. The bully looks him up and down.

“I never knew a girl could be this flat chested and tall.”

“I'm a boy.”

“Oh, give. It. Up. You are not, you are just another girl trying to be-”

“Leave him the _fuck_ alone,” someone says, and Michael sees the person step in front of him. He half expected it to be Jeremy, but it wasn't. It was a short guy with brown hair wearing a tank top.

“Uh, Rich, what're you-”

_Rich?_

“Leave right fucking now before I beat your ass.”

Rich’s voice is steady and hard. The bully looks scared himself before he leaves, and Michael has no idea what the hell is going on because he thought that Rich would've jumped on this opportunity to make fun of him, yet here the guy was, protecting him.

Rich turns around to face Michael, and Michael is still frozen, hand to chest. Rich actually looks… concerned for his well being.

“That dick overstepped his boundary. You alright?”

“... Yes?” Michael slowly replied and Rich suddenly jolts, narrowing his eyes at Michael and shoving him against the locker again.

“This doesn't make us friends, antisocial headphones kid. Get lost.”

Michael does just that, running to meet Jeremy by the entrance of the school.

(Rich bullied the pair of them less after that incident, still hurtful, but not as much. It still sucked, but at least it sucked less.)

((PS. Michael's dead name was never used again by kids at school to bully him, and if anyone did use it, they came to school a week later with their ass kicked.

Awesome.))

***

Michael’s twenty, and he shares an apartment near his college campus with his boyfriend, Jeremy Heere.

They got lucky enough to wind up going to the same college, Jeremy pursuing an acting career, and Michael going for a career in mental health so that he could possibly help other people like him.

(They had no classes together. It kind of sucked, but they always say each other at home at the end of the day, so that kept Michael sane.)

Speaking of mental health, he had something he needed to be doing.

He opened the door to the apartment at six that Thursday night, hearing the buzzing of a machine in the kitchen, along with the scuffling of feet. He kicks off his shoes and pulls off his jacket, throwing it on the counter as he walks into the kitchen. He sees Jeremy standing in front of the coffee machine, and he walks up to him, kissing his cheek.

“Okay, Michael, that’s cute and all, but I might actually fight you if you try to distract me today,” Jeremy greets, spinning around and meeting Michael’s eyes. “Like, I love you, dude, but I have a huge life-changing test tomorrow that I need to study for, and I’ll be damned if I let you distract me from this one.”

“Hey, the last distraction was worth it,” Michael teases, holding up his hands, and Jeremy goes bright red, glaring and pointing at him.

“You better shut the _hell_ up right this minute.” Jeremy spins back around, before looking at Michael over his shoulder. “Go take off your binder. Don’t forget about your surgery on Saturday. I hope you told your professors that you’re going to be out of class for two weeks.”

  
Michael groaned despite the excitement flaring up at the reminder and rubbed his temples. “There’s going to be so much makeup work. Why couldn’t I just be out for one?”

Jeremy begins fixing two cups of coffee, dumping an unhealthy amount of sugar into one of the cups. “Because I did my own research, and the website said ‘one to two weeks’, so you’re not going to do anything active for two weeks.”

“But-”

“Michael Joseph Mell, I will sock you in the dick if you argue with me on this,” Jeremy threatens, and Michael gulps, staying quiet. Jeremy hums, taking a sip of the heavily sugared coffee. “Glad we agree. Now go take off your fucking binder.”

“Yessir.”

Michael does just that, putting on a sports bra and his baggy hoodie. He walks back out to the living room, seeing Jeremy spread out his papers and books on the ground, music playing from his phone. Michael doesn't recognize the artist, which is surprising, but he likes it anyway. He takes the cup of coffee from the countertop that Jeremy made, thanking him, and taking a sip before sitting on the couch, a notebook in his lap, pencil clipped to it.

“What are you up to?” Jeremy questions, flipping through his textbook in search of something.

“A suggestion from my therapist. She said I should… write a letter to my younger self.”

Jeremy gives him a quick worried look. “Won't that dig up bad memories?”

“That's the past, Jer. I'm a changed man.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes and chuckles under his breath, getting to work on highlighting and scribbling on notebook paper himself. Michael flips to a clean page, pressing his pencil to the paper and beginning to write.

_Dear Miranda Jane Mell,_

_You're going to change a lot as you grow. I'm twenty years old now, and boy, are you different._

_I sometimes imagine what you would look like. It always makes me feel weird, though, and I carry on with my day, trying to wipe the vision out of my head._

_I know you feel strange with who you are, and I know it's hard because of how confused you can get, but it'll get better. You're so incredibly lucky, and it will be better._

_Make sure to thank your parents every day for everything they do for you because they do so much to make sure you're happy. You guys may fight sometimes, and some days you may wish to have other parents, but you really don't want other parents because no one else can love you as much as they do._

_You're also going to meet a boy who will be there for you through thick and thin. He's going to mess up sometimes, sometimes a lot, but he's human, so you need to put up with that, even when you're hopeless because this boy will capture your heart when you least expect it. I mean, I definitely didn't expect it._

Michael takes a break from the letter, feeling his hands shake a little bit, glancing up from the paper and to Jeremy. Jeremy looks back after a moment, chewing on the inside of his lip.

“You okay?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Michael.”

Michael smiles and goes back to writing.

_Some days you'll be hopeless. Some days you'll want to give up. Some days you'll be closer than ever to giving up, but don't. Don't you dare. I believe in you, and I believe in your strengths, and I need you to remember that someone out there loves you no matter what you do, no matter who you are. Even when you've run out love for yourself and it seems like all there are dead ends, please don't give up. I know it's hard, I swear I do, but don't give up on me because your life has yet to begin._

“Michael? Michael!”

“Uh- yeah?”

“I asked if you were okay.”

“I'm… yeah, I'm okay.”

“Don't push yourself, alright?”

_I refer to you as my dead half, my dead name. You're still alive in my heart, and I do wonder how you'd feel every time I look in the mirror, and I believe that you'd be proud of me, Miranda. I finally gained enough courage to be myself, and look where I am._

_(By the way, never be ashamed of sticking out. I was, which lead to a whole ton of my problems, and I don't want you to go through that too.)_

_I'll keep this brief. I don't exactly miss you, Miranda, and I'm sorry to say this, but I don't really love you, but I'm sure someone did. I am proud of you, though._

_Signed, Michael Joseph Mell_

Michael sets down the notebook and takes in a shaky breath, feeling like a weight lifts off his chest. He smiles and lifts it up again, reading through it.

He hadn't believed her at first, but wow, it really did help, in a way.

“Finished it?”

“Yup,” he announces, closing the notebook.

“Good, cause now you can help me study!”

Michael stands up and starts slinking towards the bedroom. “I suddenly remember all the homework I have to do.”

“Hey!”

***

“Did you write the letter?”

Michael nods and holds it out. Mrs. Stewart shakes her head, and he slowly draws his hand back.

“That's only for you, Michael. How did writing it make you feel?”

“Uh… vulnerable? I guess? This was me spilling my heart out on paper.” His leg bounces, crinkling the paper a little. “I don't keep a journal or anything, so it kind of… made me less stressed, too.”

“That's good. May I ask if it brought up any… bad memories, or something of that sort?”

“A… a few. Made me question a few things. I don't really know.” Michael looks away for a second before his face brightens up. “My surgery went successfully!”

Mrs. Stewart smiles and laughs. “I figured as much, seeing as how you're in my office after those weeks at home.”

Michael nods, breathily laughing himself. “Now I'm even closer to a boy’s-”

“Well, you are a boy.”

“Did… did I not tell you about…?”

“Oh, gosh, Michael, you did, no need to look so terrified,” she says, waving her hands and Michael relaxes a little. “What I'm saying is that you _are_ a boy already. Your body _is_ a boy's body, just a little bit different.”

“... Oh.”

“Don't you forget that, Michael. Okay?”

He nods. “Okay.”

She smiles and he mirrors the expression before his smile slowly becomes a grin.

He's had hard times before. Hell, he has kept so much shit bottled up in his past until it overflowed. He's been through a lot, both with hateful people, his own brain and heart, and more, but he can get through it.

Look at him now, sitting in an office chair talking to someone. He's wearing a black shirt with a flat chest underneath it, Pac-man tattoo on display, and blue jeans with sneakers. His hair is short and his face now has some stubble on it, which he was super proud to see.

(“Michael, please shave.”

“Um. No.”

“Why not? Please don't tell me-”

“I'm going to grow Gandalf’s beard.”

“Michael, no.”

“Michael, _yes._ ”)

The point here is that he’s finally… _him._

Miranda’s left in the past, and while she’ll always be a part of him, this is Michael, and this is Michael’s story.

And nothing, nothing, will ever change that.

“Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love you all, have a great day, and remember that you *are* worth it!


End file.
